


So, what were YOU doing at 1:30 AM last night?

by 1AbbyNewth5



Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: A hint of an immortality mention, Abe is v e r y tired, Damien is so wasted, Hiding in Plain Sight, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I hate conflict, I love writing drunk dialogue for some reason, M a g i c ~, Mind Reading, Multi, Poker party, Post-Wilford 'MOTHERLOVING' Warfstache, Pre-Who Killed Markiplier? (kinda), Telekinesis, Teleportation, Wilford and Abe are pals now, Wilford can sleep anywhere, Wilford is a smart and happy boy, William and Mark are brothers, Worth It, You can fight me on that, just kidding, words of wisdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-23 13:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1AbbyNewth5/pseuds/1AbbyNewth5
Summary: 1. The aftermath of the simple game of Russian Roulette. (finished!)2. Wilford and Abe have another talk after dancing together. (finished!)





	1. Russian Roulette was a mistake

**1:30 AM**

      “SHIT!!!”

The Colonel dropped his gun on the floor, and ran over to Mark, picking him up by the shoulders.

      “Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit… Mark!”

He shook Mark’s body, desperately trying to get him to open his eyes. 

     “Mark, can you hear me?! Say something!”

Mark’s head wobbled onto his right shoulder. The Colonel could feel his entire body quivering. Definitely not because of the booming music coming from upstairs.

     “Brother, please!! Let this all be a bad dream! Wake up…!” the Colonel begged, shaking Mark once more. No response.

A noticeable stain of blood trailed down from the side of Mark’s head to his neck. The Colonel just stared at Mark’s lifeless face, speechless. The drunk dizziness in the Colonel’s head was completely gone, due to his amount of shock. He’s not even surprised anymore that the slur in his voice went away. He just sat on the floor with his brother’s body in his arms for God knows how long. The main question the Colonel had in his mind was, “What am I going to do?”

Seriously, what WAS he going to do? He couldn’t just go upstairs from the wine cellar and ruin the poker party by telling everybody that he accidentally killed Mark during a game of Russian Roulette! Could he clean the blood off of Mark and carry him up to his room, and if anybody asked what was wrong, the Colonel would just say it’s Mark’s first time having alcohol, and it made him blackout? That _could_ work, but…

But nothing. There were no excuses. Telling everybody, or carrying the body upstairs are the only choices that the Colonel had. Both choices could backfire if he chose one of them. But the Colonel can’t stay in a wine cellar forever, he’d starve (and eventually die of thirst or overdosing all of the alcohol in the wine)! And the Colonel has been around the Detective long enough to know that he assumes too quickly and looks into the details too much, so he knows that the Detective, or anybody, wouldn’t let him finish explaining everything.

The Colonel sighs shakily, and gets up from the floor with Mark’s body in his arms. Mark sure has gotten heavier the last time the Colonel picked him up. Maybe while Mark got quiet, he magically got taller than the Colonel? No, probably not.

The Colonel slowly stepped on the first step of the staircase, taking a deep breath.

     “I’m just…” he muttered. “I’m simply carrying him to my room. Have to go up the stairs from the cellar, to the stairs near the front door, go to my room, and then we’ll just improvise from there…”

He glances down at Mark.

     “You have all that down, Mark?” he asked. No response. The Colonel swallowed harshly.

     “‘No, you dumb idiot!’” he mimicked Mark’s voice, shaking his head around. “‘Everybody is gonna notice! This is a terrible plan!’”

     “I know it is,” the Colonel said in his normal voice. “But this is what happens after I accidentally shoot you when I’m wasted.”

As soon as the Colonel took another step up the stairs, he blinked for a second, suddenly finding himself in his bedroom. This kind of thing was normal for him. He didn’t bother questioning it. At least nobody spotted him.

The Colonel carefully put Mark’s body on his bed, as if he’s setting up a tiny funeral for him. He rested his chin on the bed, just staring at his brother’s body. He’s surprised he hasn’t cried yet.

The Colonel has always hated Mark, ever since he was 10. Mark was always so full of himself, and brags about his smallest to biggest accomplishments. Every time Mark would win something, he would shove it in everybody’s face, chanting, “I’M THE BEST! I’M THE BEST! I’M THE BEST!”

The Colonel would be full of himself as well, but he doesn’t treat every accomplishment HE ever gotten like something that’s worth a huge celebration about. He never thought getting prizes was such a big deal. Getting sent off to the army and spending more time than usual with Celine has given the Colonel a very satisfying break from Mark, bragging about his career and fame and money, everything, really.

_*Knock knock knock!*_

     “Coooooollllloooonnneeeeelllll!!!” Damien’s drunk-slurred voice was heard from the other side of the Colonel’s bedroom door. The Colonel flinched. He gets up, and pushes Mark’s body off the bed, trying to find a way to hide him.

     “Colonel, yoouuuu missed iit!” Damien exclaimed. “Aaabe juss wooon for the thiirrrrrd tiime in a roooowww! Let me in soo I could give you a huuuuuuuuug!”

The Colonel shoved Mark under his bed, and took off his coat just to cover him up. His hat flew off as he got up to his feet to open the door. As soon as he opened it, Damien was standing right in front of the Colonel, with his greasy black hair all over the place, and his black blazer was hanging off of his shoulder.

     “Damien… how drunk did you get?” the Colonel asked. Damien grinned.

     “I did a kegstaaaaannnnd!” he slurred, wrapping his arms around the Colonel. “Why’d you and Mark go dowwn inn the whining cellar?? I hooope nothinng bad happened! Yoooouuu looook liike you’ve seeeeeeen a ghoooost! Where iisss Marrrkk anywayyy?”

In a way, the Colonel kind of already did see a ghost. He pulled Damien off of him, trying to keep him still.

     “Nothing bad happened, my friend,” he lied, faking a grin. “We just had a little talk, and Mark tried some wine for the first time, and he just had a little blackout moment. He’s in his room, so… don’t disturb him.”

Damien had a silly smile on his face. He patted the Colonel’s chest.

     “I hoope you twwo patch upp soon,” he slurred. “Mayybeee Markk will find another wooman out there somewhere. Maybee someone whooo loooks like Celiiine~”

The Colonel chuckled, patting Damien’s chest back.

     “I like to think so,” he said. “... Do you need help getting back downstairs??”

Damien simply waved his hand.

     “Nooo,” he replied. “Rememmberr that thingg you toold me a loooooonnggg time agoo? Leeeeean on the waaall ifff you’rrre drunnk whiile gooing downstaaaiirrrs!”

Damien then left, heading to the stairs.

     “I’lll beee fiiiiiine!” he exclaimed. “Arrrre yooouuu comming baack dowwnnstaiirrs to the paaaaarrrrrtyy?”

The Colonel bit his lip, trying to think of an excuse to stay in his room.

     “You go on, Damien,” he said. “I have a bit of a headache from the music, so I’ll just… tuck myself in for the night.”

A second after the Colonel finished, Damien was already halfway down the stairs. Heheh. The Colonel’s smile disappeared, closing the door. He could hear everybody cheering over another win of poker. He plopped on his bed, and covered himself up with his comforter, trying to block out the noises from downstairs. He rips his glasses off, and puts them on the desk next to his bed. The Colonel sighs shakily again.

     “Goodnight, Mark.”


	2. Words of Wisdom From the Complete Opposite Of Wise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first time writing Wilford and Abe together! I like to think that these two would have a very cool friendship the more Abe spends time with Wilfy :3

**11:20 PM**

As soon as Abe and Wilford went back to the office after the dance party, Abe felt excruciatingly tired. All of that dancing surprisingly took a lot out of him. Wilford remained as the same oddball full of energy, running around Abe in circles, yapping about a bunch of nonsense that Abe didn’t quite understand, but just went with it. Something about a mysterious fancy 3D grumpy ghost making Wilford feel ‘a bit weird’, but that’s why he likes him anyway.

Abe sat down in front of his desk as Wilford wandered around the office, playing with his fake afro wig, and finally able to finish his martini (Wilford celebrated that for a few minutes, what an adorable child). Wilford eventually sat down on the chair he was originally supposed to be tied up to, having no idea where to put his now empty martini glass. Abe kicks a trash can near him.

     “You can throw it in there,” Abe said. Wilford does so, tossing the glass in the trash can, but misses. The glass shatters all over the floor with the small umbrella and straw hanging off of the edge of the trash can. Wilford leans over, grabbing the umbrella, and flicks the straw into the can. Abe gave Wilford a weirded out look.

 _Why’d he grab the umbrella?_ Abe asked in his head.

     “I just really like this umbrella,” Wilford answered. Abe rested his chin on his hand, brows furrowed.

 _Frickin’ mind reading powers,_ Abe thought. _Is it even optional to read minds, or does he just treat mind reading like a bunch of high schoolers in the same room, shouting at each other all the time? Just forever loud chaos, having no idea how to stop it? What’s it even like to live like that??_

 _You sure do love making everything sound so grim in that head of yours, huh?_ Wilford asked. Abe sighed.

     “It’s a habit,” he said out loud. Wilford looked over at Abe. He’s fiddling with a pencil, scribbling a bunch of chicken scratch on his desk. Abe glances over at Wilford.

     “Hey,” he started. “Do you think that, you know… _everybody_ can do what you do?”

Wilford cocked an eyebrow at him. He fiddles with his fake afro, yanking it off.

     “I don’t _think_ everybody can do it,” he replied. “I _know_ everybody can do it! I’ve been surrounded by people who can do the stuff that _I_ can do my entire life! It’s perfectly normal!”

Abe just stared at Wilford.

     “And what if the people who could do the stuff that _you_ can do,” he takes a breath. “Never noticed that they could do it in the first place?”

Wilford blinked. His expression obviously tells Abe that he never received a question like that before. Everything in the room is quiet as Wilford thinks, long and hard. He gets up from his chair, fiddling with his umbrella.

     “Who knows, really?” he answered, shrugging. “It took me a while to find out that other people can do stuff like me. And I remember that it surprised a few friends when _they_ found out they could do it, too. I mean, look at you!”

He gestured at Abe with his arms spread wide.

     “It sure did take _you_ a long time to find out that you can do stuff like me!” Wilford exclaimed. “It took you… hhhhhhhhhow old are you??”

Abe pursed his lips, thinking for a bit.

     “I honestly have no idea,” he said. “I completely lost track of how old I was, like… eight years ago. I was too busy trying to find you.”

Wilford shrugged that off.

     “Well, no matter what age you actually are, it just took you a long time to find out that you’re…” Wilford slowed down himself, trying to find the right word. “... special…!”

Abe didn’t know what to say. He looked down at his pencil, realizing just now that the lead snapped off. Wilford grabbed Abe’s clock from the desk, seeing what time it was. 12:10 AM?!

     “Jeez louise!” Wilford exclaimed. “Just looking at this makes me tired!”

Abe chuckled.

     “Never knew somebody like _you_ can ever get tired,” he replied. Wilford folded his arms.

     “It always depends on how my day treats me,” he grinned. Abe gets up and grabs the clock from Wilford’s hands, and puts it back on the desk.

     “Well,” he started awkwardly. “... Are you gonna go back at your place to sleep, or… do you not have any place to stay?”

Wilford stared at Abe, and looked down at his shoes.

     “I have an apartment, but…” Wilford frowned. “A friend kicked me out just a while ago. He said something about ‘taking a break’ from me. I’m surprised I haven’t starved yet!”

Wilford faked a chuckle, just like how he did earlier before he and Abe went back to the disco party. Abe stayed quiet for a moment.

     “I know a place where you can stay,” he said. Wilford’s head perked up.

**12:20 AM**

     “I’ve had a revelation in here before I came to interrupt your party,” Abe said, showing off a small, somewhat cozy looking cellroom to Wilford. “Sorry if it looks a bit cramped. At least there are windows if you happen to smell the shit from the toilet in your sleep.”

Abe opened the cell, letting Wilford go in. Wilford glances at the metal “bed”, seeing only a pillow and a blanket resting on it.

     “Good enough!” Wilford exclaimed. He immediately crawled all over the bed, covering himself up with the blanket. It’s thinner than he expected, but hey, a blanket is a blanket! “Goodnight, Abe!”

Wilford quickly drifted off to sleep. Huh. That was fast. With a blink of an eye, Abe was back in his office, and sat back down in his desk nonchalantly. After a minute or so, Abe closed his eyes.

**1:30 AM**

Abe’s eyes opened, only to see Wilford lying on his desk, with papers, pencils, the clock, and coffee mugs all over the floor. Abe leaned back on his chair, yelping in surprise. Wilford had his knees curled up to his chest, snoring softly as Abe quietly tried to pick up everything that fell off the desk.

     “Jesus Christ,” Abe muttered. “Of all the people that had to be generous enough to let him sleep in a bathroom-cellroom for the night, why did it have to be me?!”

As soon as Abe got up from the floor with everything in his arms, he stared at Wilford right in the face. He looks a bit peaceful whenever he’s asleep. Abe glanced at his clock, looking at the time. Just by looking at it made him roll his eyes. An hour of sleep was never THAT bad, but Abe barely had any sleep for YEARS because of his constant game of Cat And Mouse with Wilford. Abe had to go back to his “abandoned” apartment anyway (the next day was his day off from work). He sighs as he puts everything on the top of a file cabinet, keeping it all away from Wilford. A marker and a lined piece of paper fell to the floor. Abe glared down at them, slowly sparking an idea. He sits down on the floor, picking up the marker.

**9:45 AM**

_*BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!*_

Wilford flinched, waking up from the sound of the clock. He throws it against the wall on the other side of the room and stretches. He opens his eyes slowly, only to find a piece of paper taped on his face. At the edges of his eyes, Wilford found that he was sleeping on Abe’s file cabinet. Everything was on the floor.

 _Oops…_ he thought. He rips the paper off his face, only to read something that Abe wrote;

 

“ **Wilford ‘Motherloving’ Warfstache-**

**Morning. You appeared on my desk in the middle of the night, and you woke me up. Gonna add ‘sleep teleportation’ to my Wilford ‘Motherloving’ Warfstache Is Fucking Weird List. (hope you don’t take offense to that)**

**Anyway. I thought long and hard about everything you told me last night. This whole world we live in is crazy, you and I share these weird powers with each other, and I just haven’t realized it until now, so I have to learn how to live with it without questioning it. And a five-decade long game of Cat And Mouse sure can get a lot of stress into your brain. It can fuck you up, big time. Thanks for knocking some sense into me about all of that. I never knew that I needed that kind of advice from a crazy son of a bitch like you.**

**Hope you and your friend are able to patch things up, soon. Is it that ‘mysterious fancy 3D grumpy ghost’ guy? Probably.**

**If you’re wondering where I am right now, I’m at my apartment. Today is my day off, and I don’t come back until Sunday. My address is on the other side of this paper if you ever wanna pop in and bug me for a while. I don’t mind. (I mean, I kinda do, your weirdness and energy is all still new to me)**

**Also, I’m thinking about putting down the tabs I kept of you throughout the years. If there’s anything on any of my cork boards that you wanna keep, be my guest and take them. Some of them might jog some things into your memory if that helps.**

**Hope to catch you soon, you fucking weird oddball of a murderer. ;)**

**\- Abe** ”


End file.
